


Snowflake

by JPeterson



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Not Related, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPeterson/pseuds/JPeterson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”Did you just kiss me?!” Anna blurts, and then feels her entire face heat up because the blonde in front of her laughs; not loud or cruel, but low and a little... embarrassed?</p><p>”No,” is the answer, when it finally comes. “Not technically. I could argue that <i>you</i> kissed <i>me</i>, but since you couldn't really choose where I landed, the point is rather moot.” She's saying all of this with a perfectly serious, almost pensive expression on her face, and it's more than just a little surreal to essentially hear a well-dressed, completely normal-looking person claim to be a snowflake. “I'd prefer to say that we kissed each other,” she eventually decides, and smiles. “That sounds much nicer, don't you think?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanITellUSmThin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanITellUSmThin/gifts).



> Because CanITellUSmThin shared a prompt over on tumblr, and my brain immediately went into spin-cycle.

In December – just a few hours short of the New Year - Anna is walking home through the snowfall. Not because she didn't enjoy the party, but because there's always some poor sod who has to work bright and early on the first of January, and this year (or the the next one, really) happens to be her turn.

She doesn't mind. The streets are peaceful because most people are too busy celebrating indoors to venture outside, and the only sound is the odd explosion of a firework going off in one direction or the other; always enough to make her turn in the appropriate direction to watch even as her feet continue to carry her towards home.

It's a beautiful night for solitude, and Anna grins as she turns her face into the icy breeze and feels her skin prickle from the cold. The snowflakes are catching in her eyelashes and hair and clothes, and she swallows a laugh and closes her eyes and just _stops_ there for a moment, in the middle of bracing winds and a swirl of white.

She smiles in reflex when a large snowflake lands square on her lips, and then feels even her thoughts stutter in shock because when the snowflake melts, it becomes _lips_ rather than water, _warm breathing_ rather than cool wind, the faint brush of soft skin and silky hair against her face, and the distinct shelter from the cold, rushing air that only another body could provide.

When she opens her eyes, there _is_ actually another body in front of her, and she's startled enough that she veers back and would have landed on her rump in the snow if two hands hadn't caught her by the elbows. Hands that belong to a young woman who could be winter _personified_ ; with pale hair and paler skin, rosy cheeks and lips, and eyes as clear and blue as the heart of a glacier, even if the look in them is unmistakably warm.

”Sorry,” the woman tells her as she holds Anna steady, and grimaces a little. ”I didn't mean to startle you.”

”Did you just _kiss me?!_ ” Anna blurts, and then feels her entire face heat up because the blonde in front of her laughs; not loud or cruel, but low and a little... embarrassed?

”No,” is the answer, when it finally comes. “Not technically. I could argue that _you_ kissed _me_ , but since you couldn't really choose where I landed, the point is rather moot.” She's saying all of this with a perfectly serious, almost pensive expression on her face, and it's more than just a little surreal to essentially hear a well-dressed, completely normal-looking person claim to be a _snowflake_. “I'd prefer to say that we kissed _each other_ ,” she eventually decides, and smiles. “That sounds much nicer, don't you think?”

Anna isn't quite sure _what_ to think.

xXxXx

In January – which is really just the very next morning – Anna has decided that the blonde woman from the night before was strange and obviously a little intrusive, but ultimately harmless. People don't just form out of thin air because you happen to kiss a snowflake, so it's much more likely that Anna was seen standing the way she was, and the woman decided to play a prank on her.

Going up to a complete stranger and kissing them full on the mouth _is_ a little off, to say the least, but a peck on the lips is a lot easier to brush off than a grope, as Anna knows well. So she's put the whole thing out of her mind when she flips the sign on the door to _Open_ , and by the time her first, fellow unfortunate soul walks in the door, she's making and serving his coffee (to go, of course) with a friendly smile on her face.

She's alone in the shop for the first two hours; manageable because so few people are up early enough to come in at this hour, even in the heart of the city. The stuttering flow of people keeps her busy enough to earn her wages, at least, and she gets to spend a few idle moments jotting down random notes for the assignments she has due at the start of the next semester.

At 8, blonde, smiling Joan is working alongside her, and another short lull has Anna falling deep enough into conversation with her that she completely misses the bell as the door opens, and only Joan draws her out of it.

“Good morning, Elsa!” she calls over Anna's shoulder, and grins. “Usual?”

“Thank you, Joan, that would be lovely,” is the audibly smiling reply over the soft clicking of heeled shoes. “Good morning, Anna.”

“Morning, Els--” Halfway through turning she just _stops_ and has to grab at her head with one hand as the resounding pang of what feels mostly like a brain freeze suddenly hits her, and the sounds of Joan preparing Elsa's usual order fades into the background while Anna grimaces. When she looks up at the young woman standing on the other side of the counter, her thoughts come to full, grinding halt while she just _stares_ for several heartbeats. It's the blonde from last night, whom Anna had certainly never seen before that, and yet, it's Elsa Arendelle, who has been a regular customer for at least the last year.

While Anna is perfectly aware that cognitive dissonance is a thing, this is _just_ a little out of scope, she thinks.

“Don't fight it,” Elsa whispers to her, and leans on the counter a little while cutting her eyes briefly to Joan. “It's easier for everyone involved if I fit in during my time here, so there's been a... backstory created, so to speak.”

“Your time here,” Anna parrots dumbly.

“One year.” That with a nod, and a slight smile. “Unless I choose otherwise.”

“Right.” Clearly, she's still dreaming. Anna hopes that she wakes up soon so she doesn't end up being late for work, and decides to just go with it. “Feel like a muffin this morning?”

“Sure.” Elsa's smile is apologetic now. “Chocolate, please.”

xXxXx

By February, Anna's convinced that the snowflake-kiss on New Year's Eve was the part that she dreamt – or possibly something that happened while she was drunk well beyond what she'd allowed herself – because Elsa is clearly as real anyone else, and a definite creature of habit if her daily appearances at the coffee shop are anything to go by. She even sits in the same seat whenever she has the time to linger; by the large window at the front of the shop, and facing the counter.

She hasn't said anything else about turning human from a simple brush of a snowflake against Anna's lips, and so Anna's lobbed that bit of strangeness in with the 'must have dreamt it' pile; the same place where she stores the odd, dual memories of Elsa having been there for ages, and Elsa never having been there until this year. Everyone else certainly seems to remember her, so the only reasonable explanation is a particularly vivid dream that somehow just refuses to loosen its grip on her.

That, and the fact that Elsa is quite happily playing along with that dream, or _was_ , anyway, since they don't talk beyond the small exchanges that happen when Elsa comes in and Anna is the one working the counter. Anna guesses that maybe Elsa can tell that she's a little uncomfortable with the whole thing, because it's obvious that she _wants_ to talk to Anna beyond that; that she stops herself after only the barest twitch of her facial muscles, and then inevitably takes her order, smiles a little, and leaves.

It's kind of painful to watch, honestly, especially since Elsa hasn't done a damn thing wrong other than having an admittedly odd sense of humor. Even when she doesn't take her coffee to go and lingers in the shop for a little while, she just sits at her table (and it _is_ 'her table' now, in Anna's mind) and either reads, pecks away at her laptop, or rests her chin in one hand while the other traces long or short lines over a page in a sketch book.

Anna realizes that she's been watching the sunlight play in Elsa's bangs for at least a minute, and shakes herself out of it with a brief rush of heat to her cheeks that she thankfully seems to be the only one to notice. She wipes down the counter and eyes the table by the windows through her lashes, and then finally rolls her eyes at herself and picks up the tray of muffins before making her way around the counter.

Elsa's table is her third stop, just to keep from being _too_ obvious.

“Muffin?” Anna asks with her smile firmly in place, and watches Elsa lift her eyes from the book in her hands. “On the house; it's a new recipe we're trying on people.”

“Oh?” Those eyes really are the most incredible shade of blue, and they twinkle a little when Elsa smiles. “Well, I'm happy to play the part of the guinea pig anytime chocolate's involved.”

Anna bites back the _I'll keep that in mind_ that's already on the tip of her tongue, because that feels a little too much like flirting and she's really not suave enough to pull it off. “What do you do for a living?” she asks instead as she sets down a napkin, and then deposits a muffin on top of it.

Elsa at first looks a little startled that she asked, and then chuckles. “Apparently, I'm an architect.”

“Apparently?” Anna repeats, and lifts a single eyebrow while Elsa uses the rim of her paper cup to hide a small smile.

“Apparently.”

xXxXx

In March, Anna is striking up conversation every time she sees Elsa. It's never long (she sees her _at the coffee shop_ and rarely has time for chatting because hey, she's working), but she always learns a little more about Elsa. It's information that she has to ask for, because Elsa never seems to give it without being asked, but _when_ Anna asks, she answers freely and promptly.

So she knows a few things by now: That Elsa is three years older than her, that she works in an office that's several blocks away, but comes here for coffee because she has at least three sweet teeth and really likes the brownies and muffins that Anna's boss makes. She knows that Elsa moved here for her job, that she's climbing the corporate ladder at above-average speed, and that she has a degree in some flavor of architecture from the university in her hometown.

“Hey, Elsa?” Anna calls, because the blonde's studying the new version of their menu and doesn't seem to register Anna's knuckles rapping against the counter. Of course, the morning rush also means that it _is_ a little loud in here. “One white chocolate mocha; extra chocolate, hold the mocha?”

Elsa rolls her eyes and sets down the menu. “I'm not _that_ bad.”

“You totally are,” Anna insists. She gets it, of course – it's _chocolate_ – but it's entirely too much fun to tease Elsa about her sweet tooth. “Where are you from, anyway?”

Elsa takes the cup from her outstretched hand, and Anna might be imagining it, but it kind of seems like their fingers brush a little more than strictly necessary. “Somewhere very far away,” she deadpans, and lets her lips twitch into a smirk when Anna rolls her eyes. “Apparently.”

Anna gives her a _look_ and shakes her head, because okay, so she answers freely, promptly, and not without the occasional measure of smart-assery. _Apparently_.

It'd be exhausting if it wasn't so damned cute.

xXxXx

By April, Anna is completely charmed. She's figured out that Elsa's workplace is literally a stone's throw from the university campus, and they've run into each other several times when their lunch breaks coincide and Anna ends up spending hers in the the park across the street.

Now? It's a thing. Not a _daily_ thing, but a thing all the same, and Anna really doesn't know why they didn't start doing this ages ago. Elsa is sweet and funny and _totally_ charming, and Anna knows what the swirling in her stomach means and why she always seems to get a little winded when Elsa smiles at her. She _knows_ she's in trouble when Elsa picks a stray leaf from her hair with a chuckle and a shake of her head, because that tiny thing is enough to make her lungs forget how to work, and yet she can't really seem to bring herself to care.

“Green does go well with red,” Elsa tells her, and twirls the leaf between her fingers with a crooked grin. “But I think this may be overdoing it.”

Anna flushes and mutters something completely unintelligible, and then shoves a brownie from the shop at Elsa because she knew she was meeting her today and grabbed it almost without thinking.

“Oo.” Elsa is grinning like a little kid, and _Jesus_ , there should be a law against being this adorable. Or at least a warning label. “If you're trying to bribe me, it's working.”

“Good to know,” Anna returns with a half-smile, and shoves her hands into her pockets. “I'll make sure to always have a spare _Death by Chocolate_ on hand in case you're there to witness me doing anything particularly stupid.”

Elsa laughs, and Anna's heart is doing double and triple flips in her chest, because _fuck_.

xXxXx

In May, Anna kisses her, and that may well be the stupidest thing she's ever done.

It isn't that she _planned_ to. Elsa is just... _there_ and so unbelievably, almost _unnaturally_ beautiful and they're both laughing at something and Anna can't even remember what it is. She just watches the breeze blow a stray lock of pale hair in front of Elsa's face, and it's the most logical thing in the world for her to reach out a hand and tuck it back behind Elsa's ear. And then... then they're already close in the shifting shade of a large tree and it feels like she's falling into the endless, summer blue of Elsa's eyes.

When Anna kisses her, everything just sort of _stops_ . She can feel the motion of Elsa's eyes widening under the hand that still rests against the side of her face, and taste – faintly – the soft, startled breath that rushes past her own lips. All she can hear is the sound of her own, thundering heartbeat, and Elsa doesn't even move for what feels like an eternity, and then Anna's pulling back and cursing inwardly because _Christ_ you don't just _do that_ without some sort of _warning_ and _fuck_ she's clearly misread _everything_ and way to go, Anna, you screwed up _again_.

But Elsa's fingers slip around the back of her neck before she can sit up fully, and Anna barely manages to make a soft sound of surprise before _Elsa_ is kissing _her_ ; all soft lips and slow breaths, and a careful, tender touch that circles her cheekbone while Anna's fingers curl in the grass by Elsa's hip.

When Elsa's touch tightens and her lips part, she tastes of chocolate and mint, and maybe kissing her wasn't such a stupid thing to do after all.

xXxXx

It's halfway into June before they manage an actual date; mostly because end-of-year exams suck harder than they ever have and Anna's lucky to be able to keep her eyes open when they aren't trained on the pages of a given textbook. It's not even a date-date, much to Anna's chagrin; it's more of an unplanned invitation when Elsa stops by to drop off a cup of coffee (dark chocolate mocha; a habit she's picked up since the first time Anna texted her and begged the favor a few weeks ago).

It really could be a whole lot more date-y than it is, but Elsa is there and Anna is caught up enough that she can not study for a few hours without her stomach turning into a ball of ice, and she's missed her something awful since she's taken the time off from the coffee shop and barely gets to see her at all these days.

“Stay?” she therefore asks after they've kissed softly at her own front door, and tries not to cringe at how Elsa's dressed as impeccably as she always is, while Anna's standing there in sweats and a tank top and bare feet. “We can at least watch a movie or something, and I promise to _try_ to not fall asleep on you.”

“How romantic,” Elsa teases, and noses her gently before bringing their lips together for another light kiss. “Of course I'll stay.”

Anna actually does end up falling asleep on her, and quite literally, too. But it's to the soft ghosting of a fond chuckle over her own ear, and the new familiarity of tender fingers tracing over her spine.

Waking up to the sight of Elsa sound asleep and curled against her just makes it all that much sweeter.

xXxXx

By the time they actually sleep together in the non-literal way, it's July. Not for a lack of interest on Anna's part, but because she's starting to wonder why Elsa never seems to make the first move, and if maybe Anna's pushing her into things without meaning to. So she deliberately doesn't make any advances of her own beyond kisses – and there are a _lot_ of those now that school's out for the summer – and while kissing Elsa never gets old, there are times when she wonders if 'blue ovaries' is a thing.

If it isn't, it should be.

And Anna's honestly a little confused, because unless she's _seriously_ misreading something, Elsa wants her as badly as she wants Elsa. It's in the steady tightening of her arms around Anna when their kisses linger and deepen; in her hitched breathing when Anna's fingers find some small, innocent sliver of skin; in the soft, encouraging sounds she makes in the back of her throat when Anna's lips or teeth close around her pulse point; in the low rasp of heavy breathing and two bodies pressed so closely together on Elsa's sofa that they may as well be one.

Elsa is wearing shorts and Anna is halfway convinced that she's actively _trying_ to kill her, because not only do those shorts – and they're _really_ well-named ones, because _damn_ \- fit as well as any of Elsa's clothes do, but the sheer amount of bare, smooth skin available essentially means that Anna has never been so turned on in her _life_ . And she doesn't _mean_ for it to happen, but they both shift at the same time and her thigh ends up pressing firmly against the apex of Elsa's legs, and it's a _really_ good thing that Elsa doesn't have a coffee table because she _bucks_ in response and the end result is that both of them end up in a heap on the floor.

There's a few seconds of stunned silence, and then they both just start laughing, because hell, why not?

“Sorry,” Elsa chuckles as they wind down, and lifts herself up on her hands and knees above Anna. “That just really...”

“Worked,” Anna finishes with a grin, and nudges the pale, wavy curtain of Elsa's hair to fall entirely over her left shoulder so the sunlight is sparkling in the tiny hairs on her face. “I could kinda tell.”

“How astute of you.” Those soft lips are curving in a smile as Elsa hovers over her, and Anna lifts herself up one one elbow until their mouths meet again; until she can slip her fingers under the hem of Elsa's t-shirt and feel her ribs expand with a sharp breath.

“ _Anna_...” Her name is low groan, and Elsa is rocking forward almost pleadingly; her fingers curling audibly in the carpet as their bodies brush, and when their foreheads touch and Anna opens her eyes halfway, she can see the flush extending down Elsa's throat and disappearing below the cotton collar.

“Do you want this?” she murmurs, and shifts her touch until she can trace her thumb along the curve of a full breast in exchange for a sharp, forward jerk of Elsa's entire body.

“ _Yes_ ,” Elsa breathes into her mouth, and that's really all Anna needs to hear.

'Sleeping together' sounds a lot more... _something_ than it actually ends up being. It sounds like it should happen in a bed, for one, rather than in the middle of Elsa's living room floor, or like at least one of them should be laying down, instead of Anna leaning back against the couch with Elsa straddling her lap. But that's how it works out and it's oddly perfect this way because it's definitely _them_ , and Anna isn't stupid enough to have a single complaint about having this gorgeous, _perfect_ vision up close and personal, no matter how it happens.

Elsa's hair is mussed from the number of times Anna's tangled her fingers up in it today. There's a fine flush sweeping across her features like a sunrise, and her lips are red and swollen and only growing more so as she presses Anna bodily into the side of the couch and kisses her _hard_.

“Tell me what you want,” Anna pants against the corner of her mouth, and doesn't understand why that makes Elsa give a sound that's halfway between tears and laughter.

“I want--” Elsa starts, and then the words seem to catch in her throat as she groans against the skin below Anna's ear. The tips of her fingers are tracing faint lines over Anna's entire, upper body, and when Anna shivers and sucks at the side of her throat, she gasps and tries again. “I want--” Another stop, and now there's the press of teeth against Anna's skin. Then Elsa straightens with a soft huff and – in one, smooth motion – yanks off her own shirt and tosses it away with an oddly defiant look on her face.

Then she promptly flinches, and grabs at the back of her own neck.

“Hey.” Anna's a little surprised that she can make arousal give way to concern right now, because she honestly couldn't dream up a more alluring sight than a flushed, slightly sweaty Elsa in nothing more than a bra and those damned _shorts_. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” is the answer around a small, somewhat sheepish smile, and Elsa rubs at the back of her own neck until Anna nudges her hand out of the way and takes over. “Just... pulled something.”

“Eager,” Anna teases, and grins right until those teeth are closing around her earlobe.

“You have _no idea._ ” The words are all but _growled_ against her skin – hot as Elsa's stuttering breaths – and Anna mostly thinks that Elsa couldn't be more wrong, but she's a little too preoccupied to actually _voice_ that thought. “Please, Anna...” Elsa's voice becomes a low keen against Anna's ear when her fingers slip beneath the waistband of those shorts, and Anna can feel something in herself clench in response. “ _Please_.”

It doesn't quite seem _real_ ; being here in this moment with Elsa. Beautiful, successful, perfect Elsa, who could surely have anyone she wanted, and yet somehow chose Anna anyway. Who winds her hands tightly in _Anna's_ hair and mewls against her mouth; who rocks breathlessly against Anna's fingers as they move inside of her like they _belong_ there.

“Anna...” A mere whisper, a stuttering exhale against her cheek, and Anna tightens her hold but doesn't really need to when she curls her fingers and Elsa surges against her with a hoarse cry.

And Anna swears that she's melting from the inside out herself. She nips and sucks and _bites_ at Elsa's collarbones and the top of her chest; tastes the faint, oddly fresh tang of Elsa's glistening skin on her own tongue while Elsa's nails bite at her shoulders and her rushing, breathless moans are muffled against the top of Anna's head. Tighter, _deeper_ , until Elsa is shuddering in her arms and sobbing in relief against her mouth.

Anna keeps stroking her slowly, soothingly while she watches with an almost disbelieving little smile, and yeah, she's probably always going to be at least a little bit in awe of this woman. Especially if Elsa keeps looking at her the way she is now, with her lower lip caught between her teeth in a vain attempt to hold back a smile that's anything but innocent.

“My turn,” she breathes against Anna's lips, and it's totally worth the few mild cases of carpet burn because Elsa touches her like she's never wanted anyone else.

xXxXx

August is warm in every conceivable way; from the weather to the inside of Anna's own chest. It doesn't even matter that school is starting back up soon and her final year promises to – predictably – top all the others in terms of how grueling it will be, and she knows that Elsa has a lot to do with that. Every single day, Elsa makes her fall even harder in the tiniest of ways, and Anna just _can't stop smiling_ to the point where she has to cover her mouth with one hand to hide it, or rub at her cheeks because they actually end up kind of hurting from it.

Right now is a good example, because there's a hand reaching over Anna's shoulder from behind the park bench she's sitting on, and when she stops being startled from the motion, she blinks several times at what it offers and finally takes the single, red rose between faintly trembling fingers.

“You know,” she comments a little breathlessly as she inhales the sweet fragrance and feels another body settle beside her. “I don't think I've ever seen one person give another person a rose, outside of maybe movies.” There's an arm curling around her shoulders, and only then does Anna look up and to the side, and directly into warmly amused blue. “That is _obnoxiously_ romantic.”

“You're welcome,” Elsa chuckles, and Anna doesn't say anything else for a little while because she's too busy kissing this absolutely adorable _dork_ who keeps making her vital organs do somersaults.

“God, I love you,” she sighs against Elsa's lips, and flushes when she feels them move into a startled, but very happy grin.

“Are you talking to me, or to a higher power?” It's clear from the tone of Elsa's voice that she's teasing, but her eyes are unmistakably bright, and the fingers that stroke over Anna's jaw and bury themselves in her hair to cup the back of her head are shaking ever so slightly.

“To you, you dork,” Anna laughs, and kisses her again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Elsa promises, and sounds like she might actually be crying a little. “So much.”

xXxXx

In September, the chill in the air somehow makes it not only into Anna's apartment, but also into her relationship.

“Seriously,” she giggles, and squirms a little in Elsa's arms as soft lips nip at her skin in a spot that Elsa damn well knows is ticklish. “You are _way_ too cute for your own good. How are you even real?”

“You know how,” Elsa hums against her shoulder, and nibbles at another ticklish spot until Anna's diaphragm is hurting from trying not to laugh. “You kissed a snowflake, and there I was.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Anna rolls her eyes and tugs lightly at the pale hair until they're kissing properly, because _God_ , she's never going to get enough of this woman if she lives to be a thousand years old. “You're allowed to be serious every once in a while, you know.”

“I _am_ serious.” Those long fingers are cradling her face, and going by the look in Elsa's eyes, that's the honest truth. “I mean... I _wanted_ to land where I did, but you're so _beautiful_ , Anna; so _alive_ , and you always have been. I wanted to know you for so long and I just... took the chance that night.”

“Elsa...” Anna sighs through a smile and cards her fingers through the soft, starlight colored hair. “You're sweet, but can we table the whole snowflake thing, please? It's a little goofy, y'know?”

“Goofy.” Elsa's lips twitch faintly, but she nods and smiles, though it seems like a faint, barely noticeable shutter drops behind her eyes. “Of course, Anna. I'm sorry.”

xXxXx

October isn't much better.

“I have to leave at the end of the year,” Elsa tells her quietly, over a beautifully set table in a private corner of a small restaurant, and Anna's fork falls onto her plate with a clatter.

“What?” she blurts, and hastily wipes at the sauce that has spattered onto her thankfully dark top. “Why? Something to do with your job?”

“... sort of,” is the hesitant answer, with Elsa's hands curling in her own lap and the fair head ducking a little.

“For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

Anna's chest is aching. “Where are you going?”

“Wherever the wind takes me, I suppose.”

“Elsa--”

“I'm sorry, Anna.” Elsa's hand covers hers, and squeezes it gently. “But that truly, honestly is all I know.”

And Anna tries to not dwell on it; tries to keep the mood light even days later when she's tiptoeing up behind Elsa's desk after letting herself into her apartment. She settles her hands on the cotton-covered shoulders and leans forward enough to kiss one pale cheek, and feels it move under her lips when Elsa smiles in reaction. She smiles, too, and whispers ' _Hey, Snowflake_ ', because it's almost as cute as Elsa herself and she figures it'll show Elsa that she's not mad about the whole snowflake-thing.

But Elsa starts crying almost hysterically in the blink of an eye, and Anna spends the rest of the night comforting her, apologizing even through Elsa's adamant reassurances that she has _nothing to be sorry for_ , and yet never manages to figure out why the nickname upset her so much.

xXxXx

In November, almost everything between them feels so painfully desperate that Anna's stomach just never stops aching. They don't spend a moment apart if they don't have to, and nights spent together in one apartment or the other has become the rule rather than the exception.

By all rights, they're living together in everything but name, and Anna would be over the moon if it wasn't for the deadline that looms closer and closer every time she opens her eyes to see Elsa watching her in the early morning light.

“You need to sleep more,” Anna burrs one morning - only halfway awake – and snuggles deeper into her arms.

“No,” Elsa murmurs, and holds her tighter while kissing the top of her head. “I can sleep next year.”

Even as the days go by, however, there are no signs of Elsa's departure cropping up. No plane tickets, no suitcases, no moving boxes, and it's enough that Anna starts to hope that maybe – just maybe – she isn't leaving after all.

“I wish I wasn't,” Elsa sighs when she asks one night, and buries her nose in Anna's hair while taking a deep breath. “But I am. I have to.”

“You haven't gotten any plane tickets,” Anna points out, and rests her head on Elsa's chest; just where she can best hear the beat of her heart.

“I don't know exactly where I'm going, yet,” is the annoyingly sensible response.

“You haven't packed anything,” she then tries.

“I won't need to,” Elsa tells her, and Anna breathes out a shaky sigh and closes her eyes as long fingers comb tenderly through her hair.

“Don't you want to stay?” she finally asks, and rises onto her elbows so she can look at Elsa; even if she's half-hidden in the low light.

“Oh, Anna...” Elsa sighs, and her eyes flutter shut for a long, aching moment. “More than anything. But I don't have a choice.”

“Why not?”

Elsa gives a sad, almost apologetic little smile, and brushes the backs of her fingers over Anna's cheek. “No one's given me one.”

xXxXx

In December, Elsa is almost hysterical, and it only gets worse as the month progresses. Anna tries to keep up a smiling front – they're both hurting enough as it is and falling into it won't help anything – but it's hard to look at Elsa and know that she'll be gone in a few short weeks, and that neither of them have any clue when they'll see each other again.

On New Year's Eve, they have a party to go to that some of Anna's friends are hosting, and they end up being several hours late because Elsa just can't seem to stop touching her. It's tender and frantic all at once; born when Anna's stepping out of the shower, or when Elsa helps zip up her dress, or when Anna bends to slip into her shoes, and both of them fix themselves up several times over the course of the evening before they finally make it out of the door.

“You're insatiable,” Anna teases.

“Can you blame me?” Elsa returns, and neither of them dwell on the fact that the words ring a little hollow, or that their smiles don't quite reach their eyes.

They've just made it to the front yard of the address they need to reach when the wind picks up, and Anna's tugged to a halt when Elsa stops halfway up the walk.

“I don't think I'll make the party after all,” Elsa says, and watches the snow start to fall with a tremulous smile. “I'm sorry, Anna, but they won't be expecting me anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Anna frowns, and twines their fingers a little tighter when Elsa's hold loosens. “Kristoff invited you months ago; he's definitely going to notice that you're not there.”

“No, he won't.” There's a wan chuckle, and Elsa shakes a few white flakes off of the end of her glove. “No one's going to remember me. I'll fade out as seamlessly as I faded in.” She smiles faintly and holds up her free hand, where her glove is now covered in snowflakes. “It's not unlike melting.”

And Anna doesn't get it until there's a gust of wind and Elsa's glove _is_ snowflakes; whipped away from her hand and upwards into the air above them.

“Elsa, no!” Anna grabs onto her shoulders with both hands and digs her fingers into the soft wool as if that might stop the fabric from literally fluttering away into the air. “Why didn't you _tell me?_ ”

“I did tell you,” Elsa reminds her, and her voice holds not an ounce of blame or anger; just an aching sadness as her fingers slip tenderly over Anna's face. “You didn't listen.”

“Don't,” Anna pleads, and doesn't even care that her voice is breaking. “Don't go. _Don't leave me_.”

“I don't have a choice,” Elsa whispers, and kisses her; long and hard and deep as if she's trying to drink Anna in, and she tastes as fresh as she ever has; cool and sharp like new snow. “I chose you from the beginning, Anna, I _swear it_. I will _always_ choose you, but the choice isn't mine to make.”

“Why not?!” She's yelling now; panicked and frightened because Elsa is dispersing into a shower of snowflakes in front of her eyes and Anna _can't make it stop_.

"What do you want, Anna?" Those beautiful eyes are rimmed in red and shining with tears, and Elsa's skin is cold under her touch; icy and fluttering, and the ends of her hair that move in the breeze are disappearing and floating into the air in a scattering of ice crystals. "More than anything, what do you want right now?"

"I want _you_ ," Anna chokes even as soft skin becomes snow under her fingers and she has to strain her legs to reach as Elsa is pulled upwards by some invisible force. "I want you to _stay_ , Elsa. _I love you._ "

Elsa's smile is there, but it's bitter and brittle, and her eyes dim even before they close and the tears on her cheeks flutter away on the wind. “I love you too, Anna.”

And then she's gone.

The world doesn't quite _fit_ anymore, Anna thinks, with her hands dropping uselessly to her sides as she stares up at the cloudy sky through blurry eyes. It's off somehow, without Elsa there to be a part of it, and it's horrible to think that if Elsa really has been telling the truth all along, then Anna is the only one who will know what's missing. To everyone else, Elsa was _never there_ , and somehow that just makes the pain in Anna's chest sharpen until it almost chokes her.

A single snowflake lands on the back of her hand, and Anna spends several seconds staring at it through her tears, with the only accompanying sounds being her own hiccuping breathing and the dull thumping of the party in the background. Carefully, then, without dislodging the glittering crystal, she brings her hand to her lips before its faint load can melt, and presses her lips to it while her eyes slip shut.

It doesn't work, of course, and the year-old memory just makes her stomach tighten until she's slumping to her knees and pressing her fists against it in an attempt to dampen the pain, and she's vaguely aware of now crying so hard that she isn't making a single sound.

“I'm sorry,” she gasps into the night air, somehow. “I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm sorry I didn't know how to give you a choice.” The snowflakes are settling on her face as she cranes her head back; dampening her skin further. “Just-- please be happy, Elsa. More than anything, I want you to be happy.”

The rush of wind makes her eyes fly open in alarm, though all she can see is a thick curtain of swirling white that blocks out everything around her. She's halfway standing in a mild panic – instinctively aware that if there's a blizzard, she has to get back indoors – but before she can even lift her other knee off of the ground, she's knocked onto her back in the snow and there are fingers gripping her face tightly and a warm body blanketing her own, and she's staring dumbly up into bright, almost iridescent blue.

“I'm happiest with you,” Elsa breathes around a smile so wide it has to hurt.

“What the fu--” That's as far as Anna's sputtering gets before Elsa ducks her head, and then everything is lips and tongue and _teeth_ and there are several extremely pleasant seconds where Anna forgets what the hell she was even trying to say in the first place. She's entirely too busy with the fact that Elsa is _here_ and _real_ and _in her arms_ ; that the yielding warmth pressing her into the snow is actually _there_ again and _God_ , she may have just managed to figure it out after all.

“If you disappear on me again, I swear I'll hunt you down,” she puffs against Elsa's mouth when they break for air, and feels the soft, watery laugh before she hears it.

“I won't.” Elsa gives her another soft kiss before sighing. “I'd already chosen to stay, Anna,” she promises. “But it wasn't until you wished for my happiness that I had the power to _make_ that choice.”

“And the choice had to be yours,” Anna murmurs, and tucks a few locks of pale hair back while several pieces click into place. “I could've saved us both a lot of trouble by opening my mouth sooner, huh?”

“You opened it in time; that's the important part,” Elsa smiles, and they spend another handful of long, pleasurable moments kissing; in the middle of a snow drift and in full winterwear over fancy clothes, and not really giving a hoot either way.

“For my next choice,” Elsa breathes against her neck. “I want to take you home into a warm bed.” A sharp nip has Anna's grip tightening and her hips jerking unevenly. “And keep you there for the foreseeable future.”

“T--” Anna's lungs empty themselves in a rush of mist when Elsa presses more firmly against her. “-- to sleep?”

"No.” Elsa gives her a hard, deep kiss that has Anna's fingers curling into the back of her jacket, and then grins as she breaks away and they both rise a little unsteadily. “Think you'll be able to handle me being around long term?” she teases as they abandon the house without ever entering, and retrace their steps down the abandoned street.

For an answer, Anna pushes her bodily up against the nearest available wall, and chuckles when the blue-rimmed pupils dilate visibly. “Oh, I think I've got a pretty good 'handle' on you,” she purrs, and traces the curve of Elsa's hips though the fabric of her clothing. “ _Snowflake_.”

Just a few months ago, that name had Elsa visibly upset, and Anna remembers that. Something, however, tells her that things are different now.

And she must be right, because Elsa simply tangles her fingers in her hair and smiles as she pulls her in.

 


	2. From the Heart

The very first time she finds her, she's a child. A laughing, apple-cheeked girl; bundled up like a colorful ball and yet jumping and sliding and digging through the snow with such ease and such a light of joy in her eyes. She's not alone – there's a mass of children playing in a vast, open space under the careful, amused watch of adults – but she is still... _different_ , somehow.

When the little girl throws two mitten-fulls of snow into the air and giggles, she doesn't even notice the soft, smiling kiss to her cheek as the powder flutters back to the ground around her.

xXxXx

She finds her every year as the seasons turn; watches her grow from a squealing child to a giggling pre-teen; from a stumbling adolescent whose limbs lengthen faster than her balance can keep up with, to an athletic young adult who's mastered her own body enough to move with a fluid sort of grace that only fails her when the excitement becomes too great.

It's lucky that this never fails to happen during the first snowfall, because watching her stumble backwards into a pile of snow and laugh as her friends pelt her is quite possibly the most enchanting thing she knows of. It _warms_ her; something that should be impossible given what she is, but every time her gloved fingers scoop through the snow it feels almost like they're touching, and whenever she lies down in it, it feels almost like she's settling comfortably into her embrace.

It feels almost like melting, and she dearly wants to know more about that – about _her_ – but the season is changing and she has to stay with Winter.

When she returns the year after, the girl is gone.

xXxXx

She searches. For as long as she can hold Winter in place and keep Spring at bay, she searches; clinging to the yellow grass in fine speckles of ice and chilling the rain that becomes ever more unwilling to turn into snow.

But still, she fails. The world is larger than even Nature knows, and when Winter moves away she's forced to follow; to make way for Spring and retreat to colder climes.

Something inside of her is aching.

xXxXx

It's Autumn that calls on her, after three years where even the coldest of seasons have been unusually mild; after Winter has lost the power to truly chill and entrance because she herself is weak with hopelessness. Countless countries and cities at the north and south ends of the planet; countless homes and faces and smiles and not once has she found the right one.

Autumn is wild and warm; deep browns, strong oranges and fiery reds in stark contrast to the silvers and blues and whites of Winter's underlings, or the greens and yellows and pinks of Spring. Wild, like the rushing wind that she carries her across the land on; stirring leaves and fruits and clothing until the people shudder and tighten their coats, but also – always – warm; like the gentle stop they come to over a wide road between tall buildings, or the touch that centers her attention and guides it to a door that's opening, and then closing.

 _"Look_ ," Autumn whispers, like a breeze between falling leaves.

So she looks, and feels as if she would weep if she could.

“Brr.” One of the two young women – a blonde – tightens the scarf she's halfway tied around her own head. “That balmy fall weather's wearing off fast now, isn't it? Figure the first snowfall's only a few weeks off, if that.”

“Oh, I hope so,” is the laughing the response from her companion. “I haven't seen a proper winter in years!” She stops in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and turns her face skyward; her arms lifting and her lips parting in a grin. “Come on, snow! I'm ready when you are!”

It's her.

It's _Anna_.

xXxXx

She can't stay, of course; not yet. There are rules to be followed in every cycle, and she at least needs to let Rime have his turn before she can start spreading her own influence, so Autumn takes her back where she found her; further north where Rime has already passed through. And she works with renewed energy; speckling the thinnest ice along the edges of pine needles and the few leaves that have yet to fall, extending fine patterns across windows, and coating grass and tarmac and concrete in a clear layer of silvery sparkle.

When she finishes a window, she hears the television inside raving about the photos viewers are sending in – photos of the most beautiful frost patterns in years – and smiles.

But the worry does catch up with her, and she pauses in the middle of spreading a thin layer of ice across a small lake.

What if Anna disappears again?

xXxXx

That's not a chance she can take; not with how much her strength waned the last time. She watched Anna enjoy the first snowfall again this year, and the sight was so beautiful that every tree in the vicinity grew perfect, shimmering leaves.

If Anna vanishes again, she somehow knows that it's only going to be harder.

 _"She's human_ ," Winter reminds her as they take another southward leap. _"T_ _hey don't move as fast or as far as we do, but they do move in a way that makes it very hard for us to track them. She is going to disappear again, and sooner rather than later."_

 _"I can't let that happen_ , _"_ she pleads. _"_ _I can't lose her again."_

 _"But you will_ , _"_ Snow cautions, because they travel together now that the season is fully theirs. _"_ _It's out of your control."_

The night air is cold, and though she tries to coat the rooftops and make them shimmer under the moonlight, she can't summon up the strength.

 _"There is a way_ , _"_ Winter says later, when they're flying through the air and guiding the clouds into place. _"But it comes with very heavy restrictions_. _"_

She asks and Winter explains, and when everything is in place and the snow is falling gently onto the city below, she sighs.

_"Who will be Frost with me gone?"_

_"I can do that!"_ Rime swirls around them with a grin, and then perches on a cloud that hasn't quite settled. _"_ _It's essentially the same job, just... colder."_

 _"I can get you there,"_ Snow adds, and smiles while a few flakes whirl in the air above her fingers. _"_ _And you, old timer?"_

Winter sighs at the jibe, and Snow has to bat at the cloud that envelops her head. _"_ _I can give you the time, and make it as if you were always there. But I can only give you a year."_

 _"A year is enough_ , _"_ she decides, and feels everything inside her tremble. _"_ _It has to be."_

 _"Remember,"_ Winter says. _"_ _She has to give you the choice."_

Snow cups a vortex of snowflakes and blows them at her, and she barely has time to feel herself shift and condense before she's whirling through the air on a gust of icy wind; fireworks glittering and shimmering across the flurry as it spins and whooses down, down, down and then across; along an empty street, onto a sidewalk with footprints that grow steadily clearer the further she goes, and when she stops and shifts again so suddenly that it staggers her, she realizes that she's kissing Anna.

Anna stares at her and almost falls backwards from sheer shock, and she catches her by the arms and swallows a sigh.

Leave it to Snow to start things out in the most interesting way possible.

xXxXx

Her name is Elsa now, and she's as human as they come. Surprisingly, it isn't difficult to get used to that idea, or to the limits of the physical form she's in. She's lost the ability to glide through the air or travel with the wind; to cast her power across the world and be a part of the cold. In return, however, she's gained the solidity that lets her learn what ice-speckled grass sounds like under her feet; lets her feel the tactility of almost-fuzz against her fingertips when she runs them over a frost-coated fence.

She does worry about Rime handling everything, but only until the first morning. Then, she just smiles at the swirls of leafy ice that extend across the bottom of her bedroom window; swirls that unmistakably take the shape of a heart.

 _Good luck_.

She has a home now, in this city. She has a name, and a job, and a bank account, and a thousand more things that she just _knows_ what are for and how to use.

Winter is powerful.

xXxXx

It surprises her that Anna seems to know both sides of the story; both the one that Winter crafted, and the actual truth. What _doesn't_ surprise her is that Anna seems far more inclined to believe the fabrication. It saddens her, though, that her presence seems to make Anna as uncomfortable as it does; evident in the faint stiffness of her smile and the veiled panic in her eyes whenever Elsa enters the coffee shop in the early mornings.

Elsa doesn't strike up conversation. She wants to, of course, but she cannot.

That's the price for this chance. That Anna must be the one to open all doors between them.

xXxXx

“I'm guessing you're as big a chocolate hound as me?” Anna asks, when the first month is drawing to a close and her smile is crooked and far easier to earn.

Elsa chuckles, and pays for her coffee. “I suppose that would depend on how big of a chocolate hound you are.”

“English mastiff,” is the prompt reply, and the register chirps before Anna holds out her change.

She shakes her head in response, and enjoys the smile that earns her. “I thought the Great Dane was the largest?”

“The mastiff is heavier,” Anna defends, and actually _grins_ when she adds another shot of chocolate syrup to Elsa's cup before handing it over. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.”

She leaves with the added warmth of casual conversation.

xXxXx

It's called 'small talk' in daily parlance, as it turns out. 'Small talk' or 'chitchat'. Elsa learns that after having indulged in it a few times with her co-workers; not because the term was actually part of a phrase aimed her way, but simply because it was used and she inferred its meaning based on context.

She likes 'small talk' better, she decides, after letting the term bat around the inside of her skull for a day or so. For one because it sounds more accurate, and for another because the way 'chitchat' is pronounced makes her want to giggle, even if she's not quite sure why.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she apologizes the next morning; when she realizes that she's maybe enjoying this 'small talk' thing a little too much when Anna's the one she's sharing it with. Because Anna is working, and she herself should probably go before she ends up being late. “I didn't mean to take up so much of your time.”

Anna chuckles, and sends her an amused look from over one shoulder as she works one of the machines behind the counter. “It's fine,” she promises. “The 7:30 rush is over, and I promise that I'm fully capable of doing more than one thing at a time.”

Elsa finds herself absolutely aghast. “I didn't mean to imply that--”

“Elsa.” Anna turns fully this time, and steps over to the register to set her order down. “I'm kidding. Relax.”

“Ah.” This 'blushing' thing is horribly inconvenient, she decides. Especially since it only ever seems to happen around Anna. “I apologize. I'm not terribly good at small talk, it seems.”

“You're doing fine,” Anna assures her with a smile. “Besides, talking to you?” She gives another half-grin before turning back around to prepare the next drink. “Not exactly a hardship.”

Elsa isn't quite sure if it's the steam or something else, but she easily decides that she likes blushing a lot more when Anna is the one doing it.

xXxXx

The second door Anna opens (with small talk being the first) turns out to be flirting, and Elsa is honest enough with herself to admit that she's surprised. That and contemplative, because it very well could have been the steam. That would scale the second door back from flirting to playfulness, which... they seem to be roughly the same thing, near as she can tell, though the intent behind them is different.

Elsa hopes it's flirting, and wonders if maybe she's allowed to try a little of her own since Anna's words and the circumstances surrounding them continue to be too vague to be determined. Right now, however, she simply enjoys one of the seasons she never got to fully experience herself; tilting her head back to watch small puffs of white slowly cross the blue sky.

Somehow, the color of the sky is different than it is in the wintertime. She can't quite decide _how_ , but it is, and the feeling of the warming sun on her face makes her smile.

“Hey.” She turns her head to see Anna standing a few feet away; her expression somewhere between friendly and nervous. “Haven't seen you around here before. New to the area?”

Elsa knows enough to recognize the joking tone, and decides to play along. “Why yes,” she says, and smiles. “Just moved in down the block. Are you the neighborhood welcome wagon?”

Anna snorts. She has a backpack slung over one shoulder and looks very different from how Elsa normally sees her; with her hair in twin braids rather than the updo she uses for work, and dressed in jeans and a light jacket.

“Better than a third wheel, I guess,” she responds, and hoists her bag up a little higher. “So... lunch break?”

“Is that a question or an invitation?” Elsa wonders, because she honestly isn't sure.

“Um...” There's a few seconds where Anna seems to be floundering; her mouth opening and closing with no sound emerging until she finally laughs a little, looks away and scrubs a hand over her face. “Lemme try that again,” she then says. “Mind some company?” Her smile is definitely nervous now. “I've got chocolate, if that helps.”

Elsa feels like she can't quite breathe right, but it's the best type of oxygen deprivation she can imagine. So she smiles, and somehow manages to keep her hand from shaking as she gestures to the space next to her. “By all means,” she says. “Though really, the chocolate is just a bonus.”

That is unabashed flirting – Anna clearly knows that much judging by the single instant where her expression is almost achingly open – and it takes several moments before Elsa realizes that there's no backlash for it. She doesn't feel so much as a twinge.

So she smiles briefly into her own lap before falling back into the conversation they're sharing, because that means she wasn't the first one to do it.

xXxXx

Doors number three and four are in-depth conversations and light touches, in that order. It starts that day in the park and continues over the course of the next few weeks while the air grows warmer and Anna's sleeves shorten.

Elsa takes care to place herself in the same general area whenever she can escape the office around lunch time. It doesn't work all the time, at first, but whenever her break coincides with Anna's the younger woman inevitably appears, and after a few tries at that, Elsa knows when Anna's break is on the various weekdays and adjusts her own accordingly when she can get away with it.

When she feels Anna intentionally touch her bare skin for the first time, it's on a particularly warm April day and perfectly innocent. Anna is regaling her with some tale or other that involves one of her friends, a large dog and several pounds of carrots, and she tells it so well that Elsa's stomach is aching from laughter.

“He didn't!” she accuses, and covers her mouth with one hand to muffle the guffaw.

“Oh, he did.” Anna nods solemnly, but her eyes are twinkling in the sunlight. “All the way down the stairs and directly into the main auditorium where – as it happened – the alumni board was meeting.”

Elsa is quite sure that she's going to slide right off the bench if this keeps up. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes." Anna is laughing too, now. “They freaked and jumped up, carrots went everywhere and I counted at least three falls, as well as twelve words that _I'm_ not allowed to use in class.” She rests her chin on a loosely curled fist, and grins. “Not sure how I could hear it under all the barking, but that's why pets are no longer permitted in the main building.”

“Poor Christopher,” Elsa sympathizes, though she's still chuckling, which presumably ruins the effect.

“Kristoff,” Anna corrects with a smirk and a pat to her arm. “And if you think _that's_ bad, I clearly need to tell you about the time we--”

Elsa doesn't hear a thing because the skin on her arm is still tingling. Anna's touch felt almost like a mild shock – albeit a pleasant one – and she's so focused on trying to chase down that feeling that it takes the second touch to make her realize that she checked out for several moments.

“Hey.” Anna looks a little worried now; that, and halfway uncertain. “Am I boring you? Because if I am, just tell me. I know I tend to go on about everything, so really, if you want me shut up, that's fine. All you have to do is say s--”

“Anna.” Elsa covers the hand on her arm with her own, and decides that she needs to say that name more because she definitely enjoys the way it feels on her tongue. “In all the weeks I've known you, you have never once bored me.”

“Oh.” Their faces are maybe a little too close and her fingers linger on the back of Anna's hand for several seconds too long, but there are _no walls_ behind those eyes and Anna looks as breathless as Elsa suddenly feels. “Good. I mean, I'm... glad to hear that.”

“Then I'm glad to say it,” Elsa returns. And under her hand, she swears she feels Anna's fingers curls a little tighter against her skin.

xXxXx

Every time they meet – and they continue to do so – Elsa's heart races for all the best reasons. One meeting in particular even manages to make her heart _stop_ for several beats; one on a spring day so warm that she imagines this is what summer must feel like, where she's the one telling the tall tale and Anna is the one curling ever tighter around herself in a mostly fruitless effort to muffle her laughter.

Elsa doesn't really understand why she _wants_ to quiet it, but she readily admits to her own bias – at least to herself. They're sitting on the fragrant grass beneath a wide tree and are shielded from the park by a large shrub, so she simply smiles and enjoys the sight and sound of Anna's laughter, as well as the warmth that blooms in her chest whenever their eyes meet. And again, there's a _moment_. One where they hold each other's gazes a few seconds too long while Anna's chuckles wind down and then die out, and then... and then Anna's expression shifts to something oddly wistful, and she hesitates before one hand is reaching out to catch a loosened lock of Elsa's hair and gently settle it back into place.

She doesn't dare move because Anna isn't moving either, apart from the faint tremble in her fingers that Elsa can feel where they linger against the side of her face. Instead, she hopes – _prays_ – that her expression is encouraging enough that Anna can find the courage to do what she herself has wanted to for some time.

 _Please kiss me_ , her mind whispers as if she expects Anna to hear it somehow. _Kiss me, kiss me, kissmekissmekissm--_

So really, it shouldn't come as much of a shock when Anna _does_ kiss her, but it does; enough for her to suck in a startled breath, and for her whirring mind to happily start cataloging every sensation brought about by Anna's lips against her own. The softness, the warmth of a shaky breath against her own skin, and the slow building of heat somewhere low in her body that finally makes her heart start beating again and rouses her enough that her hand comes up to pull Anna back in when she starts to move away.

Her skin is _so warm_ beneath Elsa's fingers. She tastes of... of summer and sweetness and golden light, and the low, almost helpless sound she makes when she presses closer makes the burn in Elsa's belly flare so abruptly that it makes her lightheaded.

“Wow.” Anna's voice is distinctly breathless when they part by however little, but her eyes are absolutely lit up from within. “That was, um... I definitely wouldn't be opposed to us doing that again. A lot.”

“What is the expression?” Elsa wonders, and smiles when Anna's fingers curl tighter against her shoulder. “No time like the present?”

Anna laughs against her mouth, and Elsa decides that she tastes of _love_.

xXxXx

Clothing and the lack thereof was never anything that Elsa worried about before the change. As Frost, she was always attuned to the temperature around her, and while she did in some ways have a body, there wasn't such a thing as nudity. Or sexual desire.

So she really has no idea what she's in for when Anna learns that she can't swim. Or, more specifically, when she agrees to let Anna _teach_ her how to swim, because Anna is apparently a certified lifeguard, and with the school year officially being over, the campus pool is abandoned and she has both the time and the access.

Elsa knows what swimwear is ahead of time, of course, but the abstract _idea_ of swimwear is a far cry indeed from the very visual reality of Anna in a skin-tight one-piece that leaves _nothing to the imagination_ , and she wasn't aware that she _knew_ this many swear words, but she's at least managing to only repeat them in the privacy of her own head. Even if she's also outright goggling as the door to the changing room swings shut behind her.

At least part of what her mind is screaming must be showing on her face, because she's getting a very amused look from the corner of those pale eyes while Anna packs her clothes away.

“You okay?” Anna asks in an entirely too innocent tone, and grins when Elsa flushes hotly and glowers at her.

She gets some of her own back, though. A lack of nudity also means that she had no reason to develop a sense of modesty about exactly that, and since Anna finished changing before Elsa even entered the room, she has very few ways of distracting herself when Elsa starts undressing. She does turn her head away, but Elsa can still see the red tint to her cheeks.

Fair is fair, she decides with a smile – and a chuckle, when removing her slacks makes Anna cough seven times and mutter something about checking the water before practically _fleeing_ – because in this form, she herself apparently has a preference for bikinis and she's _quite_ sure that it's now _Anna_ who has no idea what she's in for.

Judging by the soft choke that echoes between the walls when she finally reaches the indoor pool, she's right. And it really isn't fair how much the mere sight of a drop of water slipping over Anna's clavicle affects her, because she _wants_ and she _can't have_. Not unless Anna is the one to initiate.

It does help to know that Anna wants, too. And she must, because she seems uncommonly flustered whenever her instructions has her hands touching Elsa's skin (which, given her garb, is roughly 95% of the time). When Elsa completes her first solo swim across the width of the pool and rises to a stand in the shallow end, there is so much _heat_ in the eyes watching her that it sends tingling chills down her spine, and when she wades closer, both the sloshing of the water and the soft sound of Anna's hitched breath echoes.

Something is those eyes is a little off, though, and because she notices before their lips meet, she stops when they're just barely nose to nose and she can feel the pleasant chill caused by Anna's exhales against her own, wet skin.

“What is it?” Elsa wonders softly, and tucks back a stray lock of hair that has escaped the tie and is now clinging to the curve of Anna's jaw.

Anna's laugh is low and quiet, and definitely also breathless. “Stop reading my mind,” she accuses, and though her voice and her gaze are both wavering, they're also unmistakably warm.

“I can't do that unless you stop speaking with your eyes,” Elsa points out, and smiles at the sharp blush that earns her. “Tell me?”

There's a long, shuddering sigh, and Anna scrubs a dripping hand over her face. “I... guess I'm kinda wondering when the other shoe's gonna drop,” she admits. “Everything's happening so fast.”

Elsa frowns, because she... honestly hadn't considered that. She herself has known Anna at least in some way since she was a child, so to her, the emotion between them has been building for years. Anna, however, never knew Elsa as anything more than a passing acquaintance until a few months ago, and in a romantic sense, she really only has a few _weeks_ to draw on. That thought makes her realize just how fast Anna is catching up, and she has to close her eyes and take a breath because simply _imagining_ what that must feel like is staggering.

“Is that bad?” she asks when she opens her eyes again, and feels the uncertainty settle in her chest when Anna looks away and she has to press her fingers gently against one warm cheek to bring her back. “Anna...”

“No.” The reply is remarkably soft; especially considering how lightheaded the sheer _relief_ makes her feel. “Not bad. Just... a little frightening. Like-- like a roller coaster, when you try one for the first time as a kid, y'know?” There's a brief, thoughtful furrow to Anna's brow, and her touch glides from Elsa's elbow, up along her arm and over her wrist until her palm is covering the hand that Elsa still cradles her cheek with. “Like you're super-excited to finally get to try it but also a little--” Briefly, her eyes drop to the surface of the water. “-- a _lot_ in disbelief at being allowed to in the first place.” Here, she smiles crookedly. “And I know this metaphor's getting weirder by the word, but I just... I keep waiting for some guy in a corny outfit to tell me that I need to be a few inches taller.”

In that moment, Elsa truly _hates_ the restriction of Anna having to open every door, because everything she can think of to say in response is invalidated by it. Instead, she curls her arms around Anna's shoulders and pulls her in; closes her eyes at the secure hold encircling her in return and the way Anna's face presses into her shoulder, and hopes that she can speak without words.

She certainly tries. She kisses Anna's temple, first – lightly – and then the skin just in front of her ear; she draws slow, soothing lines over the exposed skin at the center of Anna's back with only the very tips of her fingers, and feels more than hears the soft sound when her lips flutter against the skin that covers the edge of Anna's cheekbone.

When Anna's fingers curl around the back of her neck and their mouths meet, she remains oh so very careful to keep her touches innocent; at least as innocent as she can _make_ them, given the circumstances. Even with Anna's taste filling her mouth and the press of a warm, water-slicked body against her own, she does her utmost to ensure that the contact stays slow and tender rather than fast and heavy; to keep herself from _expecting_ and instead focused on _enjoying_ , and she must be succeeding, because this moment is so sweet that it _aches_ and Anna just pulls her closer until Elsa swears that she's immersed in _her_ instead of in water.

She definitely still wants, and a part of her knows with undeniable clarity that she always _will_.

Her adoration, however, far outweighs her desire.

xXxXx

It's worth the time spent; worth the long, heady sessions on Anna's couch or hers (and, in one case, in a corner of the park that probably wasn't _that_ private), the times where her body sings so loudly that it feels as if it will burst, and the unsatisfactory relief that she finds under her own touch. Every frustrated moment of _wanting_ is worth it, because _every moment with Anna is worth it_. Every smile, every laugh and every touch of warm skin; every blush, every shy glance and every instance of being in Anna's arms. Of having Anna in hers.

She has waited _ages_ for this feeling without even knowing it. Ages to _find_ Anna and years after that to _know_ her; to learn what makes her smirk or gawk or stutter or sing without thinking, and every new piece of knowledge she uncovers only makes her want to know more; adds depth and detail to an already intricate image of someone who is sweet and stubborn and unflinchingly loyal, distracted and sensitive and frustratingly lazy, simple and complex and so, so very beautiful.

She has waited ages _without_ Anna. Waiting a few more weeks _with_ her barely even registers.

It only makes the moment all the more potent when it _does_ arrive; in the privacy of her home on a hot summer's day, and in the middle of her living room floor. That isn't exactly the spot she would have _chosen_ , but she has learned by now that mortal life includes much more rolling with it than planning for it, and she is deliriously absorbed in the sound of Anna's nails dragging across the carpet and the contrast between smooth skin and warm, rough wool.

Under her hands, Anna is – impossibly - more beautiful than Elsa has ever seen her; bare and flushed and gasping against her mouth, and oh, _Heaven_ , the sound she makes when Elsa curls her fingers inside of her. Her skin glistens in the sunlight streaming though the windows and her taste _explodes_ across Elsa's senses; that of her lips, of her skin from clavicle to belly, and when she wraps an arm across Anna's hips and slender fingers bury themselves in her hair, Anna is hot and _wet_ under her tongue, and the cries that fill the air makes it feel as if her heart is going to burst from her chest.

It's completion. Perfection. It's everything that she has never had a good enough imagination to dream of, and when Anna's body _stutters_ and _tightens_ below her mouth and around her fingers, when one hand hastily releases her hair to instead clap itself over Anna's mouth, it's clear as the nose on her face that _this_ sight – this _feeling_ \- is something she will _never_ tire of.

What's better still is after; when Anna pulls her up and they're skin to skin and lip to lip, and she can see the emotion in those pale eyes when she kisses her softly and Anna's hands slip over her back.

“I definitely wouldn't mind doing _that_ again, either,” come the words against her mouth; a little breathless, but warm with affection and sweet with the smile that shapes them.

Elsa chuckles and touches that smile with her own; her hands slipping up the backs of smooth thighs and parting them to feel the shift, the catch in Anna's breathing and the fingers that glide across her skin when she presses closer. “No time like the present?”

Anna's laugh is sweet on her tongue. “Definitely.”

xXxXx

It's still difficult, sometimes, to remember that she has to let Anna open every door. She _is_ reminded of it, at least, whenever everything is so _right_ that she's on the verge of forgetting. The twinge at the back of her neck isn't comfortable, but it isn't particularly painful either; simply enough to make her remember.

The times where it's the hardest are the ones like this; ones where she has the pleasure of having Anna in her arms for the entire night. Where she can feel deep, relaxed breathing against her skin and the pleasant weight of Anna's body sprawled across her own; where the darkness is a soothing blanket and the warmth of shared covers makes her pull Anna closer and listen to the low, contented murmur as soft lips press a gentle kiss to her chest.

But she has learned to speak without words, and does so now; breathing the truth against Anna's skin, weaving it into her hair on the back of her hand, and tracing it over her spine with the barest touch of her fingers.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

xXxXx

Anna loves her. _Loves her_ , and she remembers every last thing about how that confession came to be. She remembers the way the air smelled, the warmth of the sun on her skin and the heat of Anna's blush under her hand; remembers the sweetness of that kiss, the giddy, half-tearful laugh against her own mouth and how the rose had trembled because Anna's hands did.

Her heart still aches in the best of ways; as if it's swelled too large to fit in her chest from the sheer _joy_ of that knowing, and from finally being able to say what she herself has felt for what seems like eons.

So she thinks that maybe now is the time to be _more_ honest; to try to broach the topic of the fact that her time here is limited, and to bring up the fact that the backstory Winter fabricated for her isn't the truth, as Anna already knows. Maybe, just maybe, that will end up with Anna giving her the choice to stay.

She picks the best moment possible; one where they're alone and Anna is squirming and giggling in her hold because she is _delightfully_ ticklish and her laughter is the most beautiful sound that Elsa has ever known. One where they're close and the atmosphere is relaxed and easy, with her smile pressing into Anna's skin and the sound of a TV-show that they stopped watching a while ago playing in the background.

“Seriously,” Anna giggles, and cranes her neck to give better access even as her hands push playfully at Elsa's shoulders. “You are _way_ too cute for your own good. How are you even real?”

Elsa hums against the shoulder under her lips, and feels the twitch when her palm slips under Anna's shirt and onto smooth skin. “You know how.” She nibbles lightly at a spot that has Anna choking back a laugh, and feels the tremble under her hand when her fingers splay over Anna's abdomen. “You kissed a snowflake, and there I was.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A soft chuckle warms her temple, and then there are gentle fingers curling in her hair and tugging until Anna's lips are parting below hers for a long moment of pleasant exploration. “You're allowed to be serious every once in a while, you know.”

“I _am_ serious,” Elsa insists gently; cradling Anna's face in her hands and letting their noses brush. “I mean... I _wanted_ to land where I did, but you're so _beautiful_ , Anna; so _alive_ , and you always have been. I wanted to know you for so long, and I just... took the chance that night.”

“Elsa...” Anna is smiling when her nails scratch gently at Elsa's scalp, but it's wry and sort of tired. “You're sweet, but can we table the whole snowflake thing, please? It's a little goofy, y'know?”

“Goofy.” She parrots the word a touch dumbly, and hopes that Anna can't tell from her expression that her stomach is dropping like a rock in free-fall. “Of course, Anna. I'm sorry.”

Apparently she's an excellent actress, because they spend the remainder of the evening curled together in Anna's bed with the laptop showing something from either Hulu or Netflix. Anna is watching, Elsa knows, because she can feel the odd chuckle under her hand where it rests on Anna's belly, and against her chest where Anna's back presses against it.

Anna assumes her to be sleeping, she judges, and bases that on the slow stroking of fingers over her own. That's okay; she really isn't up for being particularly social right now as it is. Not when she has to acknowledge the now very probable reality of losing this in a few, short months.

Just as Anna can open doors, she can close them.

xXxXx

There are less than three months left, and Elsa tries to stay positive. Three months isn't a year, but it's still a long time, and there are several ways in which she can subtly guide their conversations in the right direction. She can't bring up her origins anymore – Anna closed that door and she can _only_ do what Anna wants – but she can ask questions, and keep them broad enough that what she's fishing for isn't obvious.

“What do you want out of life?” she therefore asks one day; leaning against the coffee shop counter in the wee hours of the morning where she and Anna are the only people there.

The pale eyes lift from the textbook that Anna is leaning over, and a single fiery eyebrow quirks. “Aside from graduating without losing my ever-loving mind?”

She chuckles, and sets her chin on one raised fist. “Aside from that.”

“Well...” Anna straightens and looks around the quiet shop; two fingers tapping idly at the pages of her textbook. “Much as I love this place, I guess I want a bonafide 'adult job'. You know; one where instead of having to argue with the milk frother, I get to bitch about how people keep stealing my pens.”

“Pens?” Elsa lifts both eyebrows. “Real twenty first-century woman, are you?”

“Hush.” One tanned hand finds the end of the braid that hangs over her shoulder, and gives it a light tug. “Me preferring everything to go digital doesn't mean that I can't realize how long it'll take for people to figure out what cyber security standards are.”

“You just want to submit everything electronically because your handwriting is atrocious,” Elsa teases, and leans forward enough for their lips to brush.

“Ha ha.” Anna plucks the empty cup from her fingers with a smirk, and nips gently at Elsa's lower lip before puling back and depositing her prize into a nearby bin. “We can't all write like professional calligraphists, Miss Curlicue. That's what word processors and cursive fonts are for.”

Elsa watches her turn her back to focus on the available machinery, and slips a few bills into the tip jar while Anna is distracted enough to not insist on the next cup being on the house, too. She notices when she turns back around, of course, but only gives Elsa a look and sneaks another kiss as she hands the coffee over.

It's Saturday and the streets outside are practically abandoned. So Elsa has zero compunctions about curling her fingers behind Anna's neck; about tugging her back in until they're both leaning on the counter and the contact can linger and deepen, with Anna's mouth warm and sweet against hers and a low, encouraging sound sending tingles down her spine. The kiss lengthens until Anna is lifting her heels off the floor and her fingers are tightening in the front of Elsa's coat, and when Elsa traces the slow scoop of her neckline with the tips of her fingers, Anna _whimpers_ against her mouth.

There's a faint, alluring flush spread across Anna's cheeks when they pull back, and she takes a deep, slow breath before giving Elsa's nose a light tweak. “Had to do that at the _start_ of my shift, didn't you?”

Elsa chuckles, and kisses the fingers when they pass her lips. She doesn't say 'sorry', though, since she isn't. “So you hope to graduate with your sanity at least mostly intact,” she says instead, and curls her fingers around the cup. “And to secure a different job. What else?”

Anna fishes the bills from the tip jar, and - after lifting them up and giving her a look that's half wry acquiescence, half affection – enters Elsa's drink as a sale and drops the change into the jar instead. “You.” Her lips quirk in a half-grin when Elsa feels herself blush, and she winks before heading towards the back. “And I definitely want _that_ more than the other options.”

And Elsa loves knowing that; she really does. It's a wonderful feeling of warmth that spreads from the center of her chest outwards, and she's sure that she has the silliest smile on her face when she watches Anna slip through a doorway and out of sight.

But it isn't something that gives _her_ the choice.

xXxXx

Months dwindle to weeks, and while Elsa notices, the first hint of frost in the air when she leaves her apartment in the morning still throws her off. She makes it into work, but by 10 AM, her head is pounding enough that her boss takes one look at her and sends her home, with a firm instruction to stop by a pharmacy on the way because 'stress headaches are no joke'. That, clearly, is the truth, because even the strongest over-the-counter stuff doesn't touch the pain, and she spends at least an age curled under the covers in her bedroom; trying to sleep – or at least _rest_ – and failing to do anything other than feel achy and nauseous all over.

It _feels_ like an age, anyway, but when the doorbell rings, a very brief, very squinty glance at the bedside clock tells her that it can't have been more than a few hours. Unless she actually _did_ manage to drop off and it's now 1 PM on the _next_ day, which... she really hopes not, because it still feels like someone ran her through an industrial-sized tumbler.

It's Anna she finds when she opens the door; not because she sees her – her vision is still tunneling and even having her eyes _open_ makes her want to throw up – but the soft curse when she comes into view is in a voice she knows, and the blessedly cool fingers that touch her face are as familiar as her own.

“Right back to bed with you,” Anna orders softly, and Elsa doesn't have it in her to argue when a gentle hand covers her eyes to block out the light that isn't filtered by her eyelids. “Migraine?”

“Think so,” she mutters, and lets Anna close and lock her front door before guiding her back into the bedroom. “Tunnel-vision, headache, nausea--”

“Migraine,” Anna deduces gently, and helps her under the covers before slipping in beside her; after some shuffling noises that Elsa determines to be her shucking out of most of her clothes. “Glad I picked today to drop by your office for lunch.”

“Mrmph.” She grimaces at the careful fingertips that prod at her neck and shoulders, but they do alleviate some of the throbbing pressure in her skull and make it all the easier to nuzzle into Anna's chest and inhale her scent. “Glad it isn't infectious.”

The low, derisive snort makes her smile, and she pulls Anna closer in exchange for a lingering kiss pressing against the top of her head. “I wouldn't care if you were Typhoid Mary,” Anna murmurs into her hair. “I'm just glad you're not seriously sick.”

Elsa hums into the smooth skin and kisses it, and tries to just relax into Anna's arms and not think about the fact that she _is_ sick.

Heartsick.

She does tell her – sometime later – that she has to leave at the end of the year.

Anna doesn't take it well, but she tries.

xXxXx

Weeks become days, and by now, Elsa is resigned. She just wishes that the resignation would make it stop hurting.

It doesn't.

xXxXx

The night between December 30 and December 31st, Elsa doesn't sleep at all. Anna is curled against her, and though her face is pressing into Elsa's chest, the light from the street outside is enough that she can make out the faint puffiness of her eyes, and the uncharacteristic downturn at the corner of her mouth. She sleeps, at least.

Elsa is tired, but in a few short hours, sleep isn't going to be something that she needs anymore, so why waste time on it? She knows painfully well that this is the last night she gets to spend with Anna in her arms; the last chance she will get to simply watch her sleep and feel her breathe, and she wants to remember every flutter of her eyelashes, every faint twitch of her fingers and every soft, somnolent murmur that leaves her lips.

All too soon, the memories of these moments are going to be all she has left.

When dawn breaks, Elsa wakes Anna by making love to her. The first time, she does so slowly; feeling every dip and curve under her palms, tasting her skin and her mouth, hearing the soft moans and sighs and inhaling the scent of her skin, of her hair, her arousal and the clean linens around them. Every last thing is painstakingly cataloged and imprinted in her memory.

The second time, she takes her. Hard and fast and possessive; claiming every limb - every _inch_ – with her mouth and hands, until Anna's skin is littered with bites and marks and she _screams_ her release into Elsa's shoulder; clawing at her back and biting at her neck.

The third time, _Anna_ takes _her_ , and Elsa groans into her mouth and lets her; submits to the hard kisses and fevered touches that feels as if they're turning her soul inside out.

Maybe if they never leave the bed, the day won't actually end.

xXxXx

It does, of course. The sun sets, darkness falls, and a few hours after that, they're heading to a party although neither of them are feeling even remotely festive. Anna, at least, is putting on a brave front, but of course she doesn't know that tonight is the last one they'll have.

Elsa does. She can _feel_ the pull to return; a subtle tugging at the center of her being, where she is still - in some way – Frost. She fights it, though, because months have become days, which have become hours and then minutes, and every last one of those is precious. So she pays no attention to the crunching of the snow under her feet or to the clouds gathering above, and instead focuses all of her attention on Anna; on the way a few locks of escaped hair flutters in the chilly breeze, on the warmth of the fingers that twine with her own, and on how they walk close enough for their arms and shoulders to brush with every step.

And she hopes – _prays_ , even – that maybe there's still time. That maybe there's still some way, something she can say or do that'll let Anna place the choice for Elsa's future on her.

There isn't. But she does get to tell her one more time that she loves her, and she tries to find some small amount of comfort in that as the city shrinks in size below her; swirling upwards on a flurry in the same way that she swirled downwards to begin with a year ago, and feeling – somehow – the gentle sympathy of Snow in the chilly air that no longer feels chilly.

It should feel like home to reclaim her old form; to settle above the clouds and be met by Snow and Winter and Rime, to no longer worry about death or disease or the other concerns of mankind. It _should_ , but it doesn't, and one of the things that hurts the most is the loss of the ability to cry.

“ _Can you make her forget me?”_ she asks, and watches Winter startle.

“ _Why would you want her to forget you?”_

“ _Because all I'm doing right now is hurting her_.” She feels Rime hover next to her; young – comparatively – and concerned. _“It isn't fair to her to be the only one who remembers.”_

She senses that Winter is about to answer, but something distracts her, and she – along with Snow (who perks up) and Rime (who zips to the edge of a cloud and peers over it) – turns her attention downwards.

 _More than anything, I want you to be happy_.

She doesn't need to breathe, but still feels her breath hitch. She no longer has a heartbeat, but still feels it skip, and at the rush of warmth, she looks down in wonder to see her hands turn pale and opaque as she begins to shift once more into mortal form, and this time without the faintest help from Winter's power.

“But it's too late,” she breathes – _breathes_ – and watches her friends, her _family_ , smile.

“ _Love is never too late_ ,” Winter reminds her, and then frowns. _“But we should get you back down there before you simply fall.”_

“ _She'd better take care of you,”_ Snow hisses in her ear, and she returns the tight hug while she still can; before she solidifies enough to be unable to touch her at all. _“If she doesn't, I'm going to send a fresh handful down her back every chance I get.”_

“I'll tell her,” Elsa – not Frost; _Elsa_ – laughs, and then feels tears build when she turns to Rime, who has grown from a boy to a young man in the time she's looked away. “Good luck,” she tells him, and smiles when she cups his cheek and sees the awe in his eyes. “Frost.”

He hugs her tightly enough to almost squeeze the air from her lungs, and that's a clear sign that she really does need to go before she turns completely. She's sent off with much fanfare – not a flurry this time, but an absolute _whiteout_ – and the pounding of her heart only grows more tangible the closer she gets; racing and spinning between buildings and down streets, until there's a yard and a snowpile, a thud and an 'oof', and wide, beautiful eyes that stare up at her from a field of pristine white and fiery red.

“I'm happiest with you,” she whispers, and feels Anna's breath on her face, the familiar hands pressing into her back, and the stunned almost-curse that she catches on her own tongue and turns into a tight hold and a low moan that warms her from the inside out.

 _This_ , she knows as Anna pulls her closer still, always has been – always _will be_ – home.

 


End file.
